I-XXVII

His miscellaneous labors at the minister's
filled nearly a week of unremitting labor.
But, upon the advent of Sunday,
mundane affairs were suspended in the general confusion
of preparation for church. It had rained
during the night, the day was cool and fragrant and
clear, and Gordon determined to evade the morning's
services, and plunge aimlessly into the pleasant
fields. He kept in the background until the cavalcade
had started, headed by the minister -- the circuit
rider had driven off earlier in his cart to an
outlying chapel -- and his wife. It was inviting
on the deserted veranda, and Gordon lingered while
the village emptied into the churches, the open.

Finally he sauntered over the street, past the
Courthouse, by Pompey Hollidew's residence. It
was, unlike the surrounding dwellings, built of
brick; there was no porch, only three stone steps descending
from the main entrance, and no flowers.
The path was overgrown with weeds, the front shutters
were indifferently flung back, half-opened,
closed. The door stood wide open, and, as he

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p137 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p138w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p139

v?